


Confidante

by INMH



Series: The Fruits of Mercy [11]
Category: The Order: 1886
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strong Language, lowkey romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 09:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20255872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Fruits of Mercy series. Directly follows ‘Loyalty’. Alastair debates whether or not to warn Grayson about Hastings.





	Confidante

**[-The Thirtieth of September, 1887-]**  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
Alastair was restless.  
  
Alastair was pale.  
  
And above all else, Alastair was still _here._  
  
Grayson watched from his bed, motionlessly eyeing Alastair as the Lycan moved restlessly through the room. He didn’t have much choice, really: If there were two sets of footsteps Lakshmi or Devi would come knocking, and that wouldn’t end well for anyone. Lakshmi seemed to respect that there was a lack of hostility between Grayson and Alastair, but that was all she knew; if she were to find out that Alastair had come to visit the _Aux Belles Muses_ in secret, or that they had fucked a few weeks back, she would be livid.  
  
Grayson knew this.  
  
Better yet, _Alastair_ knew this.  
  
So why was he still _here_?  
  
“Alright, out with it then,” Grayson said, deliberately keeping his voice low as he sat up. The walls in the brothel weren’t especially thin, but all it would take was one passerby to realize that Grayson had a guest in his room and get curious. “What’s gotten you so riled up?”  
  
Alastair froze. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
Grayson snorted. “Oh come now Alastair, you’re a better liar than _that_.”  
  
“Evidently I’m not, or I wouldn’t be in this situation,” Alastair grunted.  
  
“And what situation is that?”  
  
Alastair dragged a hand through his hair. “I… Can’t tell you that.”  
  
“Then why are you here?”  
  
Alastair seemed to take it as a complaint. “I’ll leave, then.”  
  
Grayson’s eyes rolled shut. “It wasn’t an accusation, Alastair, Christ- I’m merely curious why you’d be here if you can’t even bloody tell me what the problem is.”  
  
“I’m _here_ because you’re the only person at the moment I feel I can turn my back on without getting a knife through it.” Alastair leaned back against the wall beside the window, avoiding Grayson’s gaze.  
  
“So, you’re concerned that someone may want you dead?”  
  
“I’m not answering that.”  
  
“Oh, shall we play twenty questions, then? Is it to do with the Lycans?”  
  
“First, we’re not playing that idiotic game; and even if we were, that’s a stupidly on-point question, Gray. Obviously this is to do with the Lycans, they’re all I have anything to do with nowadays.”  
  
“The point of the game is not for me to make the questions easy, Alastair,” Grayson remarked dryly, folding his hands on his lap. “It’s for _you_ to avoid answering it for as long as possible.”  
  
“I don’t want to play.”  
  
“Neither do I, but as you continue to refuse to give me a straight answer, I must assume that it’s a game you want.”  
  
Alastair’s eyes rolled shut, and he tipped his head back to bump against the wall, _bump, bump, bump._ “I just want a few minutes of calm and quiet.”  
  
“You’ve had over twelve hours of that. It’s just about dawn, and you got here sometime yesterday afternoon. You’re stalling.”  
  
Alastair didn’t respond to that.  
  
Grayson was tired. It had been a long few days: Lakshmi had gotten some intel that some Vampires might be trying to pull another mass migration by boat this time, rather than airship. But he had known Alastair for centuries, since they were both teenagers; and it didn’t escape him now that he might be the best at understanding the new Alastair, post-Knight Commander. And so he knew that Alastair was not now, nor had he ever been, the sort of man to run from a problem.  
  
If he was lingering here, trying to avoid going back to whatever den he and the other Lycans had shacked up in, then whatever problem he was facing was serious.  
  
Direct questioning had failed, so now Grayson decided to try a different course. “You seem miserable.”  
  
“You have that effect on me,” Alastair retorted flatly, without missing a beat.  
  
“Cute. But I can’t help but notice that this is now the second time we’ve found ourselves together, and you’ve been melancholy over some incident to do with your Lycan brethren. Are you even happy there?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Grayson was a little taken aback by the unhesitating, brutal honesty of the answer. “No?”  
  
“No. I thought I would be, Gray, but I’m not. I’m fucking miserable.” Alastair shut his eyes. “I spent hundreds of years, most of my life, terrified of what would become of me if the Order discovered what I was: The pain, the shame, the rejection; ostracized at best, executed at worst. I thought being with the Lycans meant that I would be free from judgment, and I was an _idiot,_ Gray.”  
  
This wasn’t the first time Alastair had expressed such a sentiment. “You said this before, at the United India Company House, after you’d killed that other Lycan. You still went back, though. Are you having second thoughts?”  
  
Alastair still wasn’t meeting his eye. Grayson didn’t like that: It smelled of dishonesty, especially since Alastair had never had a problem meeting his gaze before (even when he was lying). But then, maybe this was what living with Lycans had gotten him. “There’s no point in having second thoughts. I can’t go back.”  
  
“But if you _could_ go back to the Order, go back to living the way you were before- fear of being discovered and all- would you take it over the Lycans?”  
  
Alastair sighed. “I don’t know. On one hand, I can’t countenance what’s been done to the Half-breeds by the Order over the centuries, Gray; you’ve no idea how much responsibility it and _we_ bear for the mess we find ourselves in today. The Half-breeds aren’t entirely innocent, but nor are they unprovoked. That being said, from a personal angle, I have perspective now, and it’s occurred to me: The Order may revile Half-breeds, but they’ve known me for centuries. The Lycans haven’t known me nearly as long. I’m starting to think that even if I’d been outed as a Lycan in the Order, there’s at least a _chance_ some of you wouldn’t have completely hated me.”  
  
Grayson hummed. “Decent theory.” This was something else they’d discussed before. Grayson couldn’t be sure that he would have been _okay_ with Alastair being a Lycan, but barring any traitorous activities on his part, he would have liked to think that he wouldn’t have thrown the man onto the street for it. “So, from what I’ve gathered, something significant has happened to jeopardize your position with the Lycans. Enough so that you’re concerned you may soon be turned out, and that you’ll have nowhere to go. Am I getting warm?”  
  
Alastair glared at him. “Sometimes you open your mouth, Gray, and I swear hear Sebastien’s voice coming out of it.”  
  
“A high compliment.”  
  
“If you choose to take it as one.”  
  
“I do. So that would be a ‘yes’, wouldn’t it? I haven’t quite hit the center of the target, but I’m within the inner rings.”  
  
“You’re relentless.”  
  
“You’ve presented me with a mystery, and now I would like to solve it. You’ll recall that you’ve made this mistake before.”  
  
Alastair frowned. “When?”  
  
“Are your memories of Sebastien’s death and the days following it so fuzzy now, Alastair? I’d think not, considering that those very events led us right to where we are now.”  
  
Alastair scoffed. “Of course not.”  
  
“What was it? Did you kill another Lycan?”  
  
Alastair hesitated. “No. No one’s died.”  
  
“Alright.” Grayson considered for a moment. Alastair wasn’t cutting him off or moving to leave, so he assumed the floor was open to questions. “Have you… Offended someone- or several someones- amongst the Lycans?”  
  
A sharp intake of breath was his answer.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Alastair had lost some of his color. For a moment he didn’t answer, and Grayson was ready to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer.  
  
“Hastings.”  
  
Grayson stiffened. “Hastings? What about him?”  
  
Alastair met his gaze briefly, and then looked away again. The more he did it, the more Grayson was starting to think that this was a nervous tic, a consequence of living amongst a people wary and distrustful by nature. “He came to speak to the Lycan leaders. And to me.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“He wanted to know about the Blackwater.”  
  
Grayson’s jaw dropped.  
  
Alastair was on his feet now, and the words came forth like a dam unplugged: “Oh Gray, that blood-sucking _leech_ got the drop on me, and I hate myself for it: He asked me to divulge the secrets of the Blackwater in front of the Lycan leaders, and I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t trust anyone with it, but especially not _Hastings_, and naturally it came off as though I was holding back out of some residual loyalty towards the Order, which naturally went over _brilliantly_ with the Lycans-”  
  
“_Shh_,” Grayson hissed. Alastair’s voice had grown progressively louder and more panicked as he’d spoken. “Lower your voice!” He motioned for Alastair to join him on the bed. “Was that all Hastings asked of you? What else did he say?”  
  
Alastair covered his face with both hands. “He challenged my loyalty to the Lycans, and used my unwillingness to reveal the secrets of the Blackwater as evidence of my disloyalty. He went on to tell the leaders that he couldn’t very well hope to continue the partnership between our peoples with someone so untrustworthy, and Gray, he was such a _slimy_ bastard I wish I could have knocked the smirk off his face!”  
  
“_Shh!_” Grayson urged again. “You won’t have to worry about facing Hastings, the Order, or the Lycans ever again if Lakshmi catches you here. She’ll blow your brains out, and then probably my _balls._”  
  
Alastair shook his head. “At this point, Gray, having my brains blown out would be a mercy. I’m almost wishing you’d done it in the laboratory.”  
  
Grayson winced. Even after the betrayal, the imprisonment, Alastair’s murder attempt, the idea of blowing his brains out hadn’t been palatable; it was far less so now. Still, it was easy to understand Alastair’s distress: He had burned just about every bridge available to him, save for the small, thin, rickety one that still held him to Grayson. If the Lycans were to kick him out, he would have to flee London- maybe even England, or Europe at large. And that would not be easy for a Lycan, never mind a former Knight that was currently presumed dead.  
  
“God’s Blood, Alastair. And you’ve had the gall to say that _I_ get myself into mad, untenable situations.”  
  
“My head is killing me,” Alastair whispered, eyes shut and fingers kneading his temple. “I’m losing it, Gray. I don’t know what to do.”  
  
Grayson blew out a long, weary breath. “Here, lie down.”  
  
He let Alastair lie on the bed, head eventually coming to rest on his lap. Alastair seemed too lost in his own misery to process the strangeness of it- despite the odd nature of their relationship (a single fuck, followed by months of awkwardly more-than-platonic behavior, including sharing a bed once or twice) they did not often engage in a great deal of physical intimacy. Still, Grayson feared that if he didn’t do _something_ to calm Alastair down, he’d do something that would bring everyone in the brothel running.  
  
Eventually, though, they both relaxed.  
  
And Grayson started to think.  
  
“Why would Hastings attack your loyalty?” He muttered, more a musing to himself than a question to Alastair. “What benefit would he derive from it?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Alastair responded dully.  
  
“I cannot decide if his goal was to learn the secrets of the Blackwater by putting you on the spot and forcing you to reveal them, or to simply use the subject of the Blackwater to make you look disloyal.”  
  
“Why not both?”  
  
Fair enough, but Grayson suspected that one had greater appeal than the other. “Did he seem surprised that you refused?”  
  
“No. He seemed to anticipate it.”  
  
“Then the logical conclusion would be that he intended to contest your dedication to your kin. Have you done anything to anger him?”  
  
“I’ve not seen him since you and I left London.”  
  
That had been little over ten months ago. Confounding: Why would Hastings suddenly be interested in contesting Alastair’s loyalty after all this time? Was he punishing Alastair for no longer being in the Order, no longer being useful in that way? Was he punishing some other slight that Alastair had not related to Grayson- perhaps one that even he wasn’t aware of?  
  
Or…  
  
A possibility occurred to Grayson, and it was as though someone had physically reached into his chest and stopped his heart.  
  
“Alastair.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“The United India Company House. We fucked there.”  
  
Alastair turned, looking up at Grayson oddly. “…Yes?”  
  
“Has Hastings gone _back_ there?”  
  
“Not to my knowledge.”  
  
“But he _could_ have.”  
  
“I suppose.”  
  
“Well, is a Vampire’s sense of smell as good as a Lycan’s?”  
  
A beat.  
  
And then Alastair sat straight up. Any color that had been left in his face was gone. “Fuck.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
“He knows.”  
  
“At least about that one time.”  
  
“He could know about the others. Hastings is a perfect example in how well Vampires can blend into the normal human population. He could even have people trailing me.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Fuck.”  
  
“Wouldn’t you smell them?”  
  
“Vampires don’t have a particularly distinctive smell. They don’t spend much time transformed, and they tend not to live in packed quarters with others of their own kind. I could only tell the difference if they were very close to me.”  
  
“Hell. That’s the only thing I could think of that would cause him to come for you like this. I can’t imagine he’d be very pleased about you fraternizing with the enemy, especially one associated with the people that burned his friends alive.”  
  
“If it got back to the other Lycans that you and I were- well, even _speaking_ on good terms, it would be seen as a betrayal,” Alastair whispered. “Or at least, it would be if they knew you were a Knight.”  
  
“_Former_ Knight.”  
  
“It won’t make a difference to them. Once a Knight, always a Knight; I’ve told you half the Lycans are wary of me even though I’m one of them, and it’s entirely because I was a member of the Order first. I can’t fucking _win_, Grayson.”  
  
“I’m inclined to agree.” Grayson furrowed his brow, considering. “If you were to return to the Lycans right now, what is the likelihood that the Lycans will demand you leave them for refusing Hastings?”  
  
Alastair hesitated. “Realistically… I suppose it’d be a narrow split, with slightly higher likelihood of them allowing me to stay for now. I’ll be watched, more or less on probation, but Argus- some of the leaders are reasonable,” he finished quickly, making a face.  
  
“There are probably dozens of men in London named ‘Argus’, Alastair. Calm down.” Grayson locked eyes with him. “What you need to do is return to the den. Don’t defend yourself, don’t try to lie about why you can’t tell them about the Blackwater- just keep mum about it and stick around as long as you can.”  
  
“And then, when I can’t stick around any longer?”  
  
“We come up with a contingency plan for you in the meantime. Stick with the Lycans for now, where at least you have some semblance of safety, and think on potential escape-routes if you should need to leave suddenly. I will do the same.”  
  
Alastair nodded slowly. “Thank you, Grayson.”  
  
It was a curious relationship the two of them had. Their lives had been overhauled in a span of days, and regardless of who bore the greatest fault for it all, it had ended with Grayson and Alastair both forced to acclimate to life outside of the Order; neither could go back, whether they wanted to or not. Alastair could not easily live amongst those who reviled Half-breeds, especially given that he’d betrayed them; and Grayson could not return to the Order knowing of the Chancellor’s hypocrisy, the unwillingness to concede at least _some_ validity to the Rebels’ cause.  
  
In this, Grayson and Alastair had kinship; kinship and a history that they did not share with their new comrades, be they Lycans or Rebels. And however they found themselves in this situation, Grayson did feel a sense of obligation to Alastair, at least enough to want to keep him alive.  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
“It’s _something_.”  
  
Alastair darted forward and kissed him.  
  
It had been much the same in the United India Company House, with Alastair initiating out of the blue; this time, however, there was no film of alcohol over Grayson’s senses to keep him calm, stop him from worrying about who might walk in and see. He was far more _aware _now of what it felt like to have Alastair pressed this close to him, almost on his lap- somewhat uncomfortable, but titillating. Still, he reciprocated for a moment until they parted for air.  
  
“You need to go,” He said gently. “The longer you spend away, the more the Lycans will grow nervous of where your time away from them is spent. If Hastings and his Vampires already know you come to see me, that’s bad enough- we don’t need the Lycans sniffing around too.”  
  
Alastair nodded. Perhaps a plan of action had calmed him, but he’d managed to slip into the same sort of cool, professional demeanor he’d always had as the Knight Commander. “You’re right.” The kiss Alastair pressed to the corner of Grayson’s mouth was chaste now, though it lingered for a few seconds. “I’ll come visit.”  
  
“Be cautious,” Grayson warned as he approached the window. “Of Vampires, Lycans, _and_ Rebels.”  
  
“I will, Gray.” Alastair smiled, and though it seemed genuine, Grayson saw a touch of apprehension in it. “I’ll see you soon.” He hopped out the window, and began his quick trek across the rooftops off to wherever his den was.  
  
Grayson sighed, covering his eyes against the bright dawn light.  
  
_ For the love of God, Alastair, **be careful.**_  
  
-End


End file.
